Words That Could Never Be Spoken
by Ildera
Summary: This parchment was found on the body of Duran, a famous warrior of our time, Child of Bhaal, and force for good in Faerun. Her loss will be felt by many. Final Chapter. Peace at last for the restless wanderer.
1. Simple Sentiments

Hi there! I've just finished BG:ToB, and I thought I'd share this with you. It kind of came to me in the middle of the night, so it may be a little strange. (But then, most of my writing is strange.)  
  
Anyway, Baldur's Gate does not belong to me, it belongs to the wonderful people at Black Isle. The only thing that is mine in this piece is the name of the hero, so there's no point trying to sue.  
  
Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin ...  
  
*  
  
Words That Could Never Be Spoken  
This parchment was found on the body of Duran, a famous warrior of our time, Child of Bhaal, and force for good in Faerun. Her loss will be felt by many.  
  
*  
  
If you are reading this, then I am dead, and my wayward life has drawn to a close. Perhaps, with my death, peace will come to our fair shore. I have done more than my fair share of the killing. The mark that has left on my soul shall never be cleansed. The blood of too many innocents stains my hands. I can only hope that they are at peace.  
  
Whoever finds this should deliver it to Imoen, my sister, at Candlekeep. She will know who to contact. There are things written here that I never found the courage to say in my lifetime, and need to be laid to rest.  
  
I was still a child when my troubles began, living a carefree life among the cloistered halls of Candlekeep. Gorion was the calming influence on my life, keeping me from straying too far from the path that would ultimately lead me here. If it were not for him, I would perhaps have perished with my friends in Candlekeep, or been murdered by the Five as they wreaked havoc across Faerun. I suppose I should resent him for the life I lead, but I cannot bring myself to think ill of him, a man who sacrificed his life as a Harper and scholar to raise a wayward Child of Bhaal. Poor man, he had to put up with so much as I grew, often having to apologise for my nimble fingers and quick temper. Together with Imoen, I ran the monks ragged. Despite all our faults, we were loved and cared for by those who lived alongside us, and would be still were we to return to the safety and serenity of those hallowed halls.  
  
Imoen, my best and most treasured friend. We've been through so much together. You were the first to join me, staying by my side throughout my erratic childhood. I've never been so happy as the morning after Gorion's death, when you found me wandering aimlessly in the woods. Just the sound of your voice pulled me from my despair. You set me on the right path; after all, you knew more about it than I did, having read the letter. I never found the words to thank you for staying with me, for fighting by my side when I had no right to ask it of you. When Irenicus stole you from us, I was lost. All I knew was that you were gone, and that I couldn't go on without you. You once asked me why I went to all that trouble to get you back. You are my other half, little sister. I'm not complete without you, I can't function. I couldn't have asked for a better friend, or sister.  
  
Jaheira. However can I repay you for what you have done, and what you have lost? You and Khalid were with me through my toughest time, when I discovered my heritage. You helped me come to terms with my blood, drawing me on to follow the path I chose. You always said my humour kept you going. It was Khalid who taught me to laugh again after Gorion's death. You never knew how he sat up with me on watch, telling me stories, teaching me how to laugh at life. He was the best of men, and sadly missed. As with Imoen, you were a mother figure to me, becoming one of my closest companions during my struggle to understand myself. I wouldn't have blamed you for leaving my side at all, but I will always be thankful that you chose to stay. Even when those Harpers in Athkatla tried to have me imprisoned and killed, you sided with me, against those to whom you owed more allegiance. I know you will say they were false, but you didn't know that. You fought and killed your own kind to protect me, and I will never forget that.  
  
Minsc, what can I say to you? Despite your downright dangerous qualities, I love you as a brother. I remember when I first met you, in Beregost. You were almost frantic with worry over Dyanheir, grabbing Khalid and forcing us to stop and listen to you. I was frightened of you, I freely admit, but you were so kind to me, so complimentary of my stance and my skill. I can say with all honesty that you are the most unique individual I have ever had the honour of meeting. But of course, how can I speak of you and not mention Boo? It took you so long to convince me that he wouldn't bite me, but you finally did. You are so proud of your furry little companion, and part of me envies you that closeness. Of course, people would think me strange for saying such things, but you are lucky to have Boo. In your own words, we are all heroes, you and Boo, and I. Hamsters and rangers everywhere, rejoice!  
  
Jan Jansen, the gnome with more stories than I could care to name. You always had an anecdote for anything. I would give anything to hear another of your stories before I go, but you have your family to consider and I would never dream of keeping you from them. I of all people should know the importance of family. You gave of your time and energy to help me find Imoen, even following me to Hell to complete my quest. For someone who sells turnips, you are remarkably well-rounded. I hope Lissa knows what she's missing out on. You are truly remarkable, my little friend.  
  
Sir Anomen Delryn, my husband. Do you remember when we first met? You were so arrogant and prepossessing, I almost drew on you. But I gave you time, and I will always be thankful for that brief lapse in my usually quick temper. I discovered that beneath the facade of a confident rude young squire, you needed reassurance, a boost to help you on your way. I hope I gave you that. In helping you find yourself, I let you in, and Imoen will tell you, I don't do that. I felt for you when you lost Moira. I never thought I could feel such pain on behalf of another person. And then, when you passed your test, you were so happy. You deserved such joy after all you'd been through. Remember I told you there was no need for you to fight alongside me, before we confronted Irenicus? You were so offended, you thought I was calling you a coward. But I wasn't. I just didn't want to see you hurt for no reason. The joy you have given me over these past years has completed me. There is only one thing that I can say to you. I love you, Anomen, and I always will.  
  
There is so much more that I could say, both to those mentioned here, and others who I have encountered in my travels. You all contributed to making me the person I am, and your kindness will never be forgotten. From those who comforted a grieving child when she had just lost a father, to you who travelled alongside a girl who was treated with suspicion by everyone for her heritage, and to those who shared their lives with the woman she became, you are very much appreciated. My only regret is that I never had the chance to tell you to your faces.  
  
Walk in the Light of Amaunator, my friends. 


	2. Final Farewell

The silence in the room was thick, almost stifling, as Imoen's voice fell silent. So many more people had gathered there than had ever been expected. Heroes from every continent, dignitaries from every city . . . every life Duran had touched in her all-too-short time with them.  
  
Her sister, the thief who had brightened her days with a cheery smile or comment, was crying, sobbing gently into the parchment that had been found on her body. She couldn't bear to look up, to see the sympathy and haunting grief echoed on each face around her.  
  
There was a soft sob from the corner, and recognising the voice, Imoen found her gaze drawn upwards to see Jaheira crying. The sharp-tongued druid obviously felt the loss of their friend keenly, shaking in suppression of the violence of her grief. Duran had comforted her when they had stumbled across the body of her husband, Khalid, braving the storm of her tears to hold her close. But this time, no one could hold her, so caught up in the grief that they all shared.  
  
A chair creaked, and every eye turned to where Anomen Delryn stood, his arms around the shoulders of his young children. Duran's children.  
  
'She . . .' his voice cracked, and he took a moment to compose himself. 'She was a wonderful woman, as I am sure you would all agree. The only person I ever knew to take someone's problems and make them her own, to forcefully make things right. Even if she did sometimes get things wrong.'  
  
He smiled, an odd faint smile that was echoed in the faces of those who had been on the receiving end of her well-meant advice with tragic consequences.  
  
'There is nothing I can say that would do her memory justice,' Anomen said softly, releasing his children and moving to where his beloved wife's body lay, still and unmoving, in the shroud.  
  
He knelt beside her, lifting one pale slender hand to his lips as his pain returned, moistening his cheeks with salt tears.  
  
'Perchance now, you have found worthy companions, my love,' he murmured. 'May Helm, Torm, and Amaunator guide you, my lady Duran.'  
  
With that, he returned to his children, taking them in his arms to comfort and dry their heart-breaking tears. Another gentleman rose, his features taut and stern, though they knew it was an effort to remain so composed.  
  
'I know I am thought to be mad, but my heart, too, aches for the loss of my friend. She was the greatest companion a man could need, next to my own best friend.'  
  
He turned to the shrouded body.  
  
'Minsc and Boo miss you already, Duran, and we are proud to say that we knew the hero. I never did get you that ice weasel,' he added as an after-thought, stroking the hamster that peeked from his jerkin. 'But you never needed one to be the friend and woman that you were.'  
  
'You know, for once, I have no tale to tell,' declared Jan Jansen, standing slowly. 'It seems that there is nothing I can say about her except this. That, like Minsc and Boo, I am proud to be able to say I knew her, and even more to say that I was her friend.'  
  
Everyone nodded, feeling the loss deep within themselves, the pain that the sunny bard's voice would no more be heard in the clearing outside her little cottage, that no one would see again that beautiful smile that had made her so many friends in her lifetime.  
  
They each had something they needed to say, and yet the words would not come. It was as Anomen had said; no words could truly do justice to her memory, the memory of a wonderful woman who had touched so many lives.  
  
The party drifted away, slowly, each lost in their thoughts, to return to homes that bit less warm and cheery in reflection of the events of the day. Harder still was it for a husband to return to an empty cottage, children to return to a motherless hearth, but still they went, their goodbyes said and witnessed, heartfelt and heart wrenching.  
  
And so it was that the body of Duran, the ward of Gorion and saviour of Baldur's Gate, was left to keep the lonely vigil through the night, till the morning, when she would finally be put to rest. But she was not entirely alone.  
  
A dark shape slipped from the shadows where he had watched the proceedings and approached the forlorn shape. Cloaked in shadow as he was, no one could have told who he was, and those who saw him took his bent form for that of her husband, returned to keep the vigil himself.  
  
The night crawled on, and still the dark figure said nothing, kneeling beside the hero's body with a stillness to match that of the corpse. An owl hooted in benediction of the night, but never did the silent watcher lift his head and acknowledge any presence.  
  
His hand fell to that of Duran, and the fingers tightened convulsively on the still fingers, clutching to the last desperate hope that there could still be some way to restore her. But no, the life and essence had fled the mortal plane, and he knew that she now walked among those who had loved and protected her from childhood. Not even he would wish to tear her from that happiness.  
  
The sky turned dusky in anticipation of the dawn, and still the kneeler knelt, his head bowed close to that of the shrouded figure. He raised his head as the birds burst into song, filling the cool air with their joyous voices.  
  
'And so it ends,' he murmured. 'In a few hours, you will be buried and gone, and I, who am already forgotten by those I would have love me, will be many miles from here. It was I who set you on the path you took, and I who constantly plagued you. Were it not for me, you would not have carried so many cares, but you would not have been the person you were. I salute you, Duran. May your soul travel light until you meet once again with the ones who made your heart whole again.'  
  
He rose, glancing about in the dawn light, before bending close once more to plant a simple kiss on the smooth forehead that would never know the lines that would have come with age.  
  
'Farewell . . . sister.'  
  
He slipped into the darkness, letting the shadows that had haunted his lifetime reclaim him once again. She truly had been his light towards the end, and now there was no reason for him to stay. He would join her before too long, a sad desolate man, too proud to seek aid from those who would help him for her sake.  
  
And so, in the morning of a cold dull day, when the autumn leaves fell thick upon the ground, the beloved body of Duran was committed to ashes and buried within the grounds of Candlekeep, the place that had always been her home. The place where it all began had become the place for it all to end. Beneath the earth, near the grave of her beloved foster father, Duran slumbered on, peaceful at last. 


	3. Gentle Goodbye

The wind howled in the trees, whipping at the branches with a ferocity that would frighten the bravest sailor. Snow whirled in violent swirls, curling about the houses of the town, peeking in at windows and banging against shutters that were firmly closed. In all the library fortress, only one candle remained lit, by the bedside of a small boy, who slept fitfully in restless repose.  
  
His father sat nearby, his handsome face old before his time as he gazed on the feverish boy. He had sworn to the child's mother that he would do all he could to give her children the life they deserved, and yet, here was the threat of life snatched from her youngest. He bore the looks of his mother, and yet further resembled the features of another of her blood, the man for whom he was named.  
  
Anomen sighed wearily. He still did not know why Duran had insisted on naming their youngest son for her brother, but had not been able to resist. It had meant so much to her, to know that somewhere her brother would have heard of his namesake, and might someday return to them to meet the child who had taken so after him.  
  
Tears glistened in the paladin's eyes as his thoughts turned back to his sunny little wife, and the joy she had given him in the years she had lived. Her life had been full, indeed, full of love and joy, even for those who did not deserve her forgiveness.  
  
Sarevok had never treated her as she treated him, refusing to acknowledge her part in his new life. He had even refused to accept her gift of her stepfather's knife, the one belonging she owned that had been Gorion's. The man she insisted on calling brother had returned it to her after only a few days, and probably never knew how the act had hurt her.  
  
There was a moan from the bed, and Anomen glanced up, hurrying to his son's side as the young Sarevok tossed and turned, caught in the grips of some nightmare he might never wake from. In his haste to reach his son's side, the paladin never noticed the figure standing outside, braving the howling blizzard to stand vigil with him over Duran's son.  
  
He had stood there since nightfall, his eyes trained on the suffering child. Silent and still, as once before he had been on this very hill, he remained in the darkness, just beyond the circle of light, to stand guard over the soul of the child she had named for him. He would not allow the child to die this eve, nor the next. Duran's son should live the life of an adventurer, proud of his mother and the woman she had been. Even he could sense the tragedy of the boy dying so young.  
  
The cold had seeped into him slowly, numbing his strong frame with insinuating chill, soaking his clothes until every inch of him was wet and cold, freezing in the unforgiving wind. His boots had long since been buried in the drifts that pushed against the house, his black hair growing stiff with ice and snow. Only his eyes continued to burn with the fire that had driven him al his life, yet now he burned for another. For the child.  
  
Would he have done this for any other? He doubted it, though perhaps if they had also been of his blood he would have stopped to see if they lived or died. No, the bard had bound his soul to that of her son and to that link he remained true. In all his lives, he had never loved so deeply as he had loved his sister, and to have lost her when he needed her most had cut cruelly into him. He would not allow the gods to take her son, the boy she had given to him with a single word. Sarevok, his nephew, the boy who would live on and restore honour to the name he had so defiled in his younger days.  
  
A strong gust of wind threw him forwards, onto his knees in the snow, and he found he had no strength with which to rise. Slumped in the drifts that lined the house, he waited, for the spirit who would come for the child as he knew they would. His back to the wall, he waited, peering into the darkness, through the snow and ice, and the pain.  
  
How long he waited he could not tell, but slowly he became aware of another standing beside him. For a moment he was afraid to look up, to see her beloved face once again, but look he did, into the full warmth of her smile.  
  
She was gazing through the window, her tiny form uncloaked, unprotected from the cold, but then, she no longer felt the hazards of the world. Her smile grew gentle, tender, as she looked between the suffering form of the young boy and the frozen man at her feet.  
  
Her eyes burned into his, and he knew she had come for the soul, though which soul, he was no longer certain. He could feel his life's essence ebbing away, and yet knew if she chose to take the boy, he would live through this night, and through many others until his time came again. Briefly he wondered why she stood vigil out here with him, rather than beside the man who had made her life happy, before dismissing the thought as irrelevant.  
  
'The time has come,' she said softly. 'Whom shall I choose?'  
  
His eyes sought hers once again, and he felt the stab of guilt to his heart as he saw the suffering of her soul written in her crystal clear eyes. What a choice she must make.  
  
On the one hand, the man who had set her on her course and in some small way made her who she was, and on the other, the child who should have been his future, her legacy on the mortal plane.  
  
Dragging himself to his feet, uncaring if his legs shook with the effort for he knew the cold was nothing to him any longer, he gazed through the glass at the child. His father sat beside him, cradling him in his arms, and for one terrible moment, he feared the boy had already been stolen away.  
  
'No . . .'  
  
She turned to look at him, her eyes full of concern. With faltering steps he moved to join her.  
  
'If the choice must be made, let it not be yours to make,' he begged her. 'Let it be mine.'  
  
The smile that rose on her face warmed him to his very soul, and he found himself walking more easily, moving to take the place he had made beside her. Her hand found his, drawing him into her embrace.  
  
'Then the choice is made,' she whispered, holding him close against her as he had always wished she would. 'Welcome home . . . brother.'  
  
Within, the boy suddenly drew in a shuddering breath, opening his eyes in wonder as his father began to weep for joy. They sat together in relief, each holding the other close through the long lonely night.  
  
When, the next morning, the cleric arrived, to lay hands on a child who should not have survived the night, he was greeted with the sight of a newly turned grave, and the boy and his family kneeling before it. Anomen would tell him nothing of what had happened, only that his wife's brother had finally gone to his rest.  
  
And so, beneath the turf that saw the play of many children through many, many years, Duran Delryn, Child of Bhaal and Saviour of the Sword Coast, slept on, nestled between her father, Gorion, and Sarevok, the brother who finally did come home. 


End file.
